


count the cards, watch them fall

by ladyraffe



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Breathplay, But Rey is no Sub, Consent, Cunnilingus, Detective Ben Solo, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fingering, Implied Rey Palpatine, Infidelity, Inspired by Music, Inspired by Taylor Swift, Mention of Death, Missing Persons, Not Beta Read, Okay maybe some plot, Past Armitage Hux/Rey, Past Relationship(s), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Ben Solo, Power Dynamics, Rough Sex, Seductive Rey, Smut, Star Wars Modern AU, is it cheating if the husband is dead, just in case, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:40:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28075590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyraffe/pseuds/ladyraffe
Summary: He has an extraordinary—almost psychic, Dameron insists—ability to tell if someone is being less than truthful, which, coupled with his stubbornness and his general lack of attachments—loneliness, more like, his brain unhelpfully supplies—make him a very good detective.And that beautiful woman in white, with the high cheekbones and a jaw that could cut flesh, was most definitely lying—from her perfectly delivered words to the quivering of her lip to the sobs that wracked her body—but he can’t prove it. The smile she directed at them was supposed to be sad, so why did it send shivers up his spine?Why does he feel so drawn to her?-----In which Ben Solo is convinced that Rey Johnson-Hux had something to do with her husband's disappearance.
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 8
Kudos: 73





	count the cards, watch them fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BensCalligraphySet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BensCalligraphySet/gifts).



> based on this [twitter prompt](https://twitter.com/galacticidiots/status/1338184645855367170?s=20) by fran, which is based on taylor swift's [no body, no crime](https://youtu.be/IEPomqor2A8)
> 
> i know nothing about missing persons cases, police work, or really anything
> 
> what's a plot

“Mrs. Hux, we’ve thoroughly investigated this case and followed up every lead that we have, which is admittedly, not a lot,” Detective Poe Dameron grimaces.

The woman in white sitting in front of his desk has been crying for the last ten minutes—the past week if one counts every single time she’d broken down into tears every time the subject of her missing husband has been discussed. She’d brought along a friend: a short, feisty Asian woman, who, for the past ten minutes has been simultaneously rubbing soothing circles on Mrs. Hux’s back while staring daggers at Dameron for causing the distress.

“If someone comes forward with new evidence, or if a body—” 

The woman erupts into another round of sobs, and her friend wraps her arms around her, giving Dameron another reproachful glare.

He sighs and continues. “If a body is found, then a decision will be made on whether to resume investigations. But for now, all signs point to a voluntary, er, departure.”

The woman sniffles, dabbing at her eyes with a pack of Kleenex her friend helped unearth from her big purse. “So you’re saying he left willingly, and there’s basically nothing I can do about it?”

“Yes. I’m sorry,” Dameron says, closing the open blue folder in front of him. 

“But he’s okay?” She presses, eyes watery and red-rimmed.

Dameron gives her a small but encouraging smile. “We haven’t found anything that indicated otherwise.”

“As long as he’s okay, I suppose,” the woman finally says, still sniffling. She looks up at her friend and nods, and the Asian woman takes the big purse and steps back, making way for the woman to stand up and put on the coat she’d draped on her lap. “Thank you for all your hard work, Detectives,” she says, looking at Dameron in front of her and to Detective Ben Solo, who has been leaning on a nearby wall the entire time, a resigned smile on her face as she turns around to leave the station with her friend’s arm around her.

“Thank God that’s done, huh?” Poe huffs, leaning back on his chair and stretching his limbs. “That poor woman... I feel a little bad for her but her husband sounds like such a tool. Maybe he did her a favor, honestly.”

Ben grits his teeth. “Yeah, poor woman.”

Poe leaps out of his seat and points at Ben with his whole arm. “Drinks? We can make Happy Hour if we leave now.”

Ben pushes off the wall and walks over to Poe’s desk. “Can’t tonight, man. I gotta process.” 

“Suit yourself, Benny Boy,” Poe hums, clapping him on the back before donning a fleece-lined leather jacket and heading to the door. He gives Ben a casual salute before pushing the door open into a drizzling and chilly September night. 

Ben runs his index finger on an edge of the blue Armitage Hux file. He recalls the first time they interviewed the woman in white, her piercing eyes shining with tears. Her alibi was airtight with multiple witnesses corroborating, and there’s no logical way she could be involved—unless she paid someone, but her financial situation doesn’t make that viable. 

He has an extraordinary—almost psychic, Dameron insists—ability to tell if someone is being less than truthful, which, coupled with his stubbornness and his general lack of attachments— _loneliness, more like_ , his brain unhelpfully supplies—make him a very good detective. 

And that beautiful woman in white, with the high cheekbones and a jaw that could cut flesh, was most definitely lying—from her perfectly delivered words to the quivering of her lip to the sobs that wracked her body—but he can’t prove it. The smile she directed at them was supposed to be sad, so why did it send shivers up his spine?

Why does he feel so drawn to her?

Something halfway under Dameron’s desk catches his eye. It’s a nondescript leather wallet, black with no visible brands. Poe’s wallet is one of those sleek card ones, so he picks it up to toss in the Lost and Found bin, but curiosity overtakes him and he flips it open.

Rey Johnson-Hux.

\------

He should’ve tossed it in the goddamn Lost and Found bin. Mitaka would’ve called her so she could come back to the station to get it.

Instead he’s here, hair soaking wet from the rain, knocking on the door of the apartment unit she shares— _shared,_ his mind corrects—with her husband. The address was on their file, but he’s never been here before because the lack of evidence against possible foul-play made it impossible to get a search warrant.

It takes her a minute to open the door; Ben hears the mechanical click of a deadlock in addition to the two standard ones. She’s still wearing the same clothes she had at the station: a white long-sleeved blouse with a mandarin collar securing a deep but modest keyhole cutout on her chest, offering just a peek of the creamy skin underneath, and a black pencil skirt. She seems taken aback by Ben’s presence in her doorway.

“Good evening, Mrs. Hux,” Ben nods, trying to appear dignified even as rainwater dripped from the tips of his hair.

“Detective… Solo, is it?” She asks, her right hand gripping the doorknob tightly. She seems less confident than she was at the station. More skittish. “What can I do for you?”

He doesn’t really know what he’s doing. The case is closed; the time for gathering evidence is over. Everyone they’ve talked to seems to agree that Armitage Hux is a shifty, fickle person, and skipping town without his wife would be completely in-character for him. Probably cheated on her, too, more than one of his colleagues even said. But Ben is sure she’s lying; he just doesn’t know exactly about what. Yet.

“You left something at the station, I just wanted to return it,” he says, digging into his coat pocket to retrieve her wallet.

Her eyebrows are knitted together and from the way her dark red lips are working, he can tell he’s chewing on the inside of her cheek. She’s suspicious of him. He doesn’t blame her. Maybe Mitaka can deal with this wallet situation after all. Turning to leave, he resolves to stop obsessing about this completely unremarkable case. _We’ll find out what compelled you about this one,_ his brain prompts, _preferably under a cold shower._ He’d only taken one step before a deep breath followed by a small voice comes from inside the apartment.

“Please come in and dry yourself, Detective. I have a spare umbrella you can use.”

Propelled by a force he doesn’t understand, he walks back to the apartment, crossing the threshold as Rey Johnson-Hux lets him in.

\------

She disappears into the darkened hallway for a few minutes to grab a towel for Ben. He stands on the mat at the entrance, thankful that the coat he grabbed—the one his mother gave him—is made of waterproof fabric, which meant that he only needed to wipe it down. Otherwise, most of his clothing is dry.

“Would you like something to drink, Detective?” Rey asks, handing him the towel.

“I’ll take a coffee, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course,” she says, smiling tightly. She stares for a moment as he dries his hair with the towel, then remembering herself, she turns around to grab the kettle for the pour over. There’s a slight tremble to her hand as she pours the water over the grounds in a circular motion. If he didn’t know any better it could be dismissed as her arm struggling with the weight of the kettle, but he’d seen her art—precise strokes that could only come from a steady hand. 

He’d researched her background as much as he could during the investigation. Immigrant from the UK, no family registered other than her husband, member of the Resistance Art Collective, and has two jobs—a server at Maz’s Diner at the marina during the weekdays, and a cleaner during the weekends. Resilient. Hardworking. Beautiful.

He shakes himself out of this line of thought, looking around the apartment instead. It’s a simple unit, the living room, kitchen, and dining area sharing one large open space; the kitchen counter acting as a sort of divider between the cooking space and the dining area. The bedroom and the bathroom is presumably down the hallway where Rey had gone earlier.

The living room itself is cozy, although slightly disorganized. The bookshelves flanking the TV are overflowing with books, tomes stacked on top of each other. There are a couple framed artwork on the walls, but he recognizes some of hers—he’d looked at every single one of them on the Collective’s website, see—in frames leaning on the wall, waiting to be hung. In a corner, there’s a small army of plants, and a fresh, unopened bag of soil by some empty planters. 

She gestures for him to sit on the couch as she comes around the counter to hand him a cup of coffee. He hands her his used towel and her wallet, in exchange. Gasping, she instinctively flips the wallet open to check if it is really hers.

“Oh God, I didn’t even notice it was gone.” She looks back at him with such a grateful look on her face that he mentally kicked himself for ever entertaining the thought of just tossing the wallet into the bin. “Thank you _so_ much.”

“You’re welcome,” he says, allowing himself to smile at her heartfelt gratitude, and she blinks in surprise.

A brief silence falls over the two of them, and Rey walks over to the coat rack by the door and starts dabbing at the liquid on the surface of his coat with the towel.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that—”

“Just until you finish your coffee,” she says, without looking at him. 

He decides to rip off the bandaid.

“I’m sorry about your husband.”

She huffs quietly, a noise that could be interpreted as either misery or scorn. “Me too.”

“There’s not a lot of photos of you two around.”

“He—” She says, a little too quickly, then she stops. She turns her head to the side, to the direction of the window, but her eyes are focused on the darkness beyond. “He’s very unsentimental. Didn’t like taking photos. Didn’t like celebrating anything—birthdays, anniversaries; those are just normal days to him. Didn’t like going on vacations, no matter how much I insisted. Or maybe he did. Just not with me.” Shaking herself out of this mood she’d fallen into, she turns her attention back to Ben with a sad smile. “There are no pictures of us around because there’s no pictures to display.”

He can tell that was true, and he feels a little guilty for asking. A flare of something else too, because what kind of person wouldn’t want to take photos with this woman? Wouldn’t want to take her out to see beautiful places and see her laughing in the sun— _Where did that come from?_ It seems like the people they talked to were right. Armitage Hux is not a very good person, and he is an even worse husband.

“Was he unkind to you?”

She snorts in reply. “Like there’s anything you can do about it, Detective.”

He insists, “We could file a case against him.”

“I thought the case was closed. He’s gone and now I have to move on.” There’s an edge to her voice. She dabs at the coat harder. “I can take care of myself.”

“If he lifted a hand against you in any way, you have every right to—”

“Why do you care?” 

He hears a sharp intake of breath in front of him, and he blinks, realizing that he had moved involuntary towards her. He is so close to her he could smell her… shampoo? She smells like jasmines. He thinks it’s his favorite smell in the world now. His hands itch to reach out and touch her, but his one remaining brain cell is yelling at him about impropriety.

“Would you like to take care of me tonight, Detective?” She whispers, her eyes dark. His cheeks feel hot, noticing that the toffee in her eyes has been swallowed entirely by her pupils.

 _Yes, yes, yes, yes._ He gulps, breathing shallowly. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

“You’re not in charge of my case anymore,” she points out. “And besides, your body seems to like the idea.”

Ben had backed her all the way to the door, his arms caging her in. He is embarrassingly hard and he wants nothing but to grind against her, the sheer force of his willpower the only thing stopping him. Then she hooks her fingers on his belt on either side of his waist, pulls, and Ben Solo is a goner.

\------

Cupping the back of her head with one huge hand, he slants his mouth against hers, devouring her as he practically crushes her to the door with the need to feel her small body against his. He feels like an animal, desperate and hungry, blood hot in his veins, making him wonder if she can feel it through his skin. She’s panting against him; mouth welcoming him in; her hands wandering on his back, his shoulders, fingers tangling in his hair and pulling slightly, creating little shockwaves on Ben’s scalp, drawing out a groan. She gasps as his hands slip under her crisp white blouse, the blouse that made her look the personification of purity as she sat in the bullpen, shedding dainty tears for her missing husband, when he knew she was everything but innocent. She’s not even wearing a bra. The thought of her husband touching her like this makes his blood boil, and he pinches her nipples roughly then soothes them with his thumb and kneads them in small circles, as his mouth swallows her cries. 

“Take this off,” he orders, and she complies at once, ripping off her blouse from her body and tossing it somewhere in the vicinity of the couch.

She shivers as her skin becomes exposed to the chill in the room, her nipples hard. Ben instantly latches onto one of her breasts, tongue laving and sucking as one of his hands continues massaging the other.

“Knew your tits would be perfect. Fits right in my mouth,” he breathes against her chest, earning a contented sigh from her.

Her left hand still working in Ben’s hair, she uses her right to take the hand Ben was using on her breast and lifts it to her mouth, sucking on his pointer and middle finger. He looks sharply up at her, gasping at the sight and feeling of her wet tongue sliding against his fingers, saliva running down her chin. He’s no stranger to sex, but he thinks this is the most erotic thing he’s ever seen, and his cock throbs with the need to fill her.

“Mrs—” he chokes, but she stills and he realizes the mistake he’s made. _Good one, Solo. Can’t believe you managed to fuck this one up._ For a moment he imagines being out of his body, witnessing this tableau of him hunched over this woman’s tits, looking up at her with his fingers inside her mouth, completely frozen. _Fuck._

Then her demeanor shifts, her eyes turning hard. He thinks this is it, she’ll kick him out of her house, then she’ll file a case against him for harassment, and he’d absolutely deserve it. Instead she puts both of her hands on his shoulders, pushing him to the floor until he’s kneeling in front of her.

She smiles sweetly as she hikes up her skirt, revealing red lace. Slowly, she bends over until her mouth lightly touches his ear. “Call me Rey, sweetie. Now lick.” She straightens back up, and he grasps her thighs, inhaling until the smell of her arousal hits him. Drunk on her, he wrenches her legs apart and drapes one over his shoulder. 

“Say my name,” she breathes. Ben is so focused on the dark spot in the gusset of her panties, he doesn’t hear it. She grasps a bunch of his hair and firmly pulls until his head is looking up at her. “Say my name, Detective.”

“Rey,” he whispers.

Satisfied, she smirks and releases his hair. “Good.” 

“Rey.” He resumes his task, still whispering her name like a prayer. “Rey.” 

She sucks in a breath when his finger pushes the red lace to the side and probes the lips of her sex. “Fuck, Rey, you’re so wet. So wet for me,” he babbles, marveling at how aroused she is. _For me, this is all for me._ He licks a stripe up her pussy, sucking lightly when he catches her clit in his mouth. The answering moan that comes from Rey is music to his ears, and he decides he wants to hear more of it. 

“Delectable. Fucking delicious,” he whispers, running his tongue all over her folds, making it stiff and pointed when he gets to that dip where her hole is. She is shaking above him, moaning loudly, her inner thighs smeared with her slick and his spit. “Fucking dripping. Making a mess on my face. Should I walk around on the streets like this? Your juices glistening on my mouth?” He questions in a thick voice, making her whimper. His slacks are so tight against his erection, and he thinks he’s never been this hard, and her moans are definitely not helping. He’d palmed himself once but, noticing the leg she had on the floor quivering like a branch in a gale, opted to dig the fingers of his other hand in that thigh to support her instead. 

“I—I want—”

“What do you want?”

“F-fingers, please. Inside me,” she pleads, and he smiles against her clit as he works one, then two fingers inside her, hearing her breath catch and feeling her walls clench against his digits. 

“You did say ‘fingers,’ honey.” He grins, and he starts withdrawing his fingers and pushing them back in deeper at a furious pace.

“Detective—I—” she sobs, and Ben has to stifle a laugh, because how did they get the order so wrong? Maintaining the tempo of his fingers, he stands up and presses himself against her, savoring the warmth of her body. Her eyes are screwed shut from pleasure, her mouth open as her breath comes in shallow gasps. She’s so beautiful like this, he thinks, with the sweat from their _activities_ giving her skin dusted with freckles a light sheen. Impulsively, he gives her a peck on the nose, and he jolts, surprised by his own action. 

She whines, opening her eyes and looking into his. “Why’d you stop?”

He is speechless for a moment, not knowing what to say. 

_You are the most beautiful person I’ve ever laid eyes on._

_I could kiss you forever._

_I want to be the only one to make you come._

All of these come to him in a rush, but all of them seem like the wrong thing to say at the moment so he opts for silence. _We’re gonna have to unpack all this later,_ a voice in his head says, and as he tries to suppress it, Rey’s voice cuts in.

“Is everything alright?” She looks a little worried, and he only now notices that she had put her arms around his shoulders. 

He turns his head slightly and kisses her forearm, resting his head and peeking at her. “Just wanted you to scream the right name when you come. It’s Ben.” He bites her arm lightly, and he takes advantage of her surprise, sinking down to his knees again and fingering her once more while alternating between sucking and flicking her clit with his tongue. It’s a concerto in his brain—the sound of his fingers moving furiously in her wet cunt, his heartbeat in his ear, Rey’s wails of pleasure and _please_ and _Ben._

Her knees buckle as her orgasm erupts, and he presses a kiss to her belly before lifting her on his shoulder in a fireman hold. He starts to head for the couch when he hears her whisper, “Bedroom,” and well, he doesn’t really need to be told twice. 

He kisses her thigh before tossing her on the bed, and she wastes no time peeling off her now very wrinkled skirt and soaked panties before settling on her back, propped up by her elbows.

“I think it’s only fair that I get to see your body too, don’t you think?” She tilts her head to the right, eyelashes fluttering as she surveys his still half-tucked button-up and the considerable tent in his pants.

“You wanna help?” He raises an eyebrow, shedding his shirt and dropping his belt on the floor with a loud clink.

“Or you could give me a show,” she smiles, teasing. 

“I could,” he says, stepping out of his slacks and briefs and fishing out a condom from his wallet before leaving it pooled by his feet. He steps towards her, watching her sit up on the bed with interest. “Or I could just stuff you full with my cock now.”

He scans the room for a trash can and something pulls at him at the back of his mind, imploring him to pay attention, but all coherent thought vanishes as he feels Rey’s lips on the head of his erection. She’d given it a small kiss, grinning as she plucks the condom from his hand.

She runs her hands over the span of his chest, kissing every mole and every scar, her breasts grazing the head of his cock every time she leans forward. Ben thinks he might explode every second he’s not inside her. Slowly she makes her way down his torso, finally taking mercy on him and grasping him with her small hand. His ego puffs up a bit, seeing her slender fingers juxtaposed with his already larger than average cock, then she humbles him, pumping him a couple of times and drawing out a strangled sob from him. 

“I won’t last if you keep doing that, Rey,” he pleads, and she giggles, a light and musical sound he files in a special place inside his brain; her hands rolling down the condom on his shaft. He hunches down and gives her another hungry kiss, his hands sliding up and down her waist, until he is dizzy with her. She twists her body around, presenting her supple ass to him.

He massages the globes of her ass, grasping as much flesh as he can, muttering nonsense like “Best fucking ass I’ve ever seen, _fuck,_ wanna have this tight hole—next time, next time—” because that’s what she’s reduced him to, a creature who’s always five seconds away from mounting her like an animal, rutting into her until he comes so hard he forgets his own name. He kisses each cheek, with a silent promise to come back to them, then he dives into her slick pussy once more, lapping her up with his tongue and opening her up with his fingers.

She starts moaning in earnest now, chanting his name. “Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben—” 

How dare her husband—whoever and wherever the fuck he is—make her unhappy? Didn’t he know he had a goddess in his arms? Didn’t he know what people would give—what Ben would give—to have someone like Rey in his life? She—she is the most magnificent—

And suddenly, Ben has a moment of clarity. There is nothing masculine in this bedroom or in the house, nothing that points to a wife waiting for her husband to come home. Instead there are new things, signs of redecoration, a rose bush blooming in full once the weed that’s been strangling it has been cut off. 

“You sure moved on pretty quickly huh?” He quips sardonically, still fingering her frantically.

She’s half out of it, her face pressed to the mattress. “What?”

 _This is the mattress, the bed, the room she shared with her husband;_ the thought comes unprompted, and he feels something dark uncoil deep inside his stomach. There it is again, the anger. There is no rational reason for it, for him to be more worried about this than the fact that she’s likely involved in this disappearance—or death—of a human being, but his brain happily supplies him with the images anyway. _Another man pinning Rey down on the bed, making her moan._

“It’s like he didn’t even live here,” he presses, adding another finger and stretching her completely.

_Rey’s little mouth wrapped around someone else’s cock._

“I need to come—Please let me come—”

_Rey in the throes of pleasure screaming someone else’s name._

Snarling, he replaces his fingers with his cock, burying himself inside her as deep as he could, his breath knocked out by the exquisite feeling of her wet heat enveloping him. She’s dangerous; and he’s an idiot because he’s ruined himself for anyone else because nothing—nothing compares to this. 

Her eyes are wide open; her mouth open in a wordless cry. 

He tries to imagine it; this black widow trapping men in her web, luring stupid men like him with her beauty, and disposing of them when it no longer suits her, but he can’t. Because she lied about her husband, but there are many truths he’d shown her in the time they spent together: her empty stare in the living room was not a lie; her gratitude when he gave back her wallet was not a lie; her indirect admission of loneliness and what she endured with her husband was not a lie. 

Every moan, every gasp, every whimper, every sound she’s made for him—not a lie.

She squirms under him, willing him to move. He grinds his hips against her ass, the movement shoving him even deeper inside her. But Ben Solo is nothing but stubborn.

“You killed him. Didn’t you?” He demands hoarsely, gripping her hips as he spears her over and over with his cock.

“Ben—” she gasps, cut off by a groan wrenched deep from within her throat by a particularly hard thrust.

“Tell me.”

Rey, the fireball that she is, recovers and finally understands what he’s been asking. “This your interrogation technique? You fuck all your prime suspects?” She spits out, eyes blazing.

“No. Just you.”

She smirks, pushing back against him to increase friction. “Bet you say that to all of them.”

His eyes glint dangerously, and with a low growl he rams against her even harder, swirling his hips to hit that precious spot inside her that makes her cry out.

“So good, Ben—so good to me—”

Why should he care about what happened to that asshole, when she comes for Ben so prettily? When she calls out his name like it’s something holy?

He bends his body over her, pressing his chest to her back as she arches to meet him. In her ear, he whispers urgently, “Did he ever fuck you like this, huh? Split you open like this? Lick your cunt the way I do?” 

“Just you, Ben,” she breathes out, drooling from sheer pleasure.

“Painted my face with your juices, you dirty fucking girl. _My_ dirty fucking girl,” he chokes out, adjusting the pace until she yelps. His dick feels like it’s going to melt, the warmth of her clenching down on him.

“Ben, please— _fuck_ —Ben—”

He wraps his left hand around her throat. The sight of her dainty neck at the mercy of his one huge palm makes him even harder, and he quells the voice in his head that goes, _Add this one to the list,_ by grunting harshly in Rey’s ear. “Tell me to stop.”

She moans, still pushing back, keeping up with his punishing strokes.

He squeezes lightly on her neck. “Tell me to stop.”

“Fuck you. I’ll kill you if you stop,” she bites out, turning her head to glare at him.

 _I’d burn galaxies for you,_ he thinks, and no rebuke comes from any other part of his brain, because in this one thought everything spirals in, sucked into the pit of his groin, pressure building. His thighs are burning from work and pleasure, but he feels it, a spark in the base of his spine.

Suddenly he pulls out of her, and she cries, “No, please, come back—” but he merely flips her effortlessly, folding her body in half until his knees are somewhere near her chest, this time easing his length into her gently before upping the tempo, driving into her with the same force that took her breath away moments ago. 

“Want to see your face as I stuff you full with my cock,” he pants, bracketing his arms on either side of her head as he hunches over to watch her try and throw her head back as much as she could laying on her back as he continues to piston into her cunt.

Rey’s chest is heaving with great effort, glistening with sweat. Ben drops his head, placing a gentle kiss on the valley between her breasts, and following the light spray of freckles, he kisses up her collarbones, then to her throat, then to the dip in her jaw where it meets the ear. She releases her grasp on the sheets and tangles her fingers in his hair the moment he started suckling on this sensitive spot.

“Ahhhh yes, _fuck—_ Ben—”

He can feel her tightening around him, and he knows she’s close to the peak as he nears his. _Let me see you. Let me see you undone for me._

“Come for me, Rey. Wanna feel you come on my cock,” he pleads, hand swirling around her clit, his body still snapping his hips towards her. She wails, crying out his name in ecstasy, and he feels her then, pulsing around him, and it only takes him two, three more thrusts before a thunderous groan is ripped from his gut, color and light flooding his vision. He empties himself in the condom, the residual fluttering of walls of Rey’s cunt milking the length of him.

She pulls him down for a sloppy kiss, then he falls over her, sated and surrounded by the smell of jasmines, sweat, and their coupling. There is nothing he wants to do but sleep like this, basking in the warmth of the afterglow with Rey in his arms, but after a few minutes she starts to squirm under him.

 _Right. This was just sex._ He can’t help but feel a little shard of hurt lance through him at the thought. Reluctantly rolling over, he slips out of her and tosses the used condom in the can beside her bed as she moves to a sitting position at the edge of the mattress. 

His eyes trace the wrinkled pattern of the sheets that marked her back. “I need to pee,” she declares without looking at him. “You can hold me later. If you’re still here.”

_Oh._

She gets up and heads to the bathroom without waiting for an answer.

A warmth spreads in Ben’s chest and all throughout his body, pulling at the corners of his lips. _Ah, I remember. This is what it feels like to be happy_ , he thinks, and he sleeps.

\------

Ben wakes up in an unfamiliar room, sunlight filtering through the blinds. He is draped over something warm and he looks down to see Rey pressed to his chest, sheets bundled all around them. For a moment his brain panics, remembering everything he’d said the night before, but he notices her blinking calmly at him, waiting for his reaction. Saying nothing, he presses a kiss to her forehead, and she burrows even further into his chest.

“He found out I had a grandfather who was extremely rich,” she says, her small voice causing vibrations on his chest. “I didn’t know what he was going to do, but I knew he was gonna hurt me—”

He draws her whole body closer to him, grounding her and giving her stability as she starts trembling.

“I didn’t mean to—I panicked—” She chokes out, and he realizes she’s crying, feeling wetness on his bare chest.

“I’m not gonna rat on you, Rey,” he says, lips pressed against her hair.

She pulls slightly away to look at him. Her eyes are red but her brows are drawn together in a suspicious frown. “You won’t? Why?”

“I’m really good at telling if people are lying. I knew you were lying the first moment you opened your mouth to give your alibi,” he says gently, tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear. “You’re not lying now.” 

“Some cop you are,” she huffs, averting her eyes, her cheeks flushed.

He laughs, “I’ve been thinking of quitting for a while now, actually.”

She looks back at him, lifting a finger to trace his jaw. “I could kill you, you know.”

“I know.” He kisses the inside of her wrist. “Maybe I won’t mind it so much.”

“You’re not… scared of me?”

“Oh, I am.” He smiles, eyes crinkling at the corners. _I'm terrified of the way I feel about you._

She blinks at him. “But you’ll stay?”

Hope unfurls in his chest. “If you want me to.” 

“I do.”

_Truth._

**Author's Note:**

> and then ben quits his job, and he and rey live happily ever after, the end
> 
> thanks for reading! 
> 
> (disclaimer: i am not affiliated with @ladyraffe on twitter) (i AM on twitter though 👁👄👁)


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